Wish Fulfilment
by Laurielove
Summary: Everyone needs a treat at Christmas. But when you're a witch, magic sometimes brings you more than you bargained for. A Hobbit crossover treat featuring Hermione, a hot dwarf and a hot elf. Naturally. Mature readers, thank you.
1. Chapter 1

**A Christmas gift. A lot of you will have seen the latest Hobbit movie. A lot of you will have been - how to put it - _stirred_ by the various characters on screen. It's happened to me for the last three years now and I've finally given in to my yearnings. I considered writing an OC for these two, my fave Hobbit males (can't call them men, as they're not), but I'd feel disloyal to Hermione, and her magic does make certain plot points easier (ie how to make two fictional characters from Middle Earth appear in 21st century London). **

**I admit - I find Richard Armitage as Thorin hot as hell, but I do have an issue with the height (or lack of it) thing. So I've made Thorin really tall for a dwarf (as he would be, naturally). In this, he is the same height as Hermione (just about canonically acceptable - fingers crossed!). And he's very, very imposing, so just think of him as being absolutely _majestic_. And then there's the elf. He's tall. And perfect. The fact that he has long blond hair like that other fellow I occasionally write about is entirely coincidental. No, seriously, it is. These are the only two men with long blond hair in any world, real or fictional, that I would ever find attractive. **

**This is a silly bit of Christmas fun, really. I don't generally like crossovers, but these two demanded a lust splurge. The lust isn't going to splurge for a couple of chapters though, so bear with me.**

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'And then he was like stumbling out of Diagon Alley, pants halfway down his legs, bum on full display, belting out Jingle Bells totally tuneless. He didn't see the muggle copper before it was too late. And then it was like, "Sho shorry, constable, we wuz jusht having a little pre-Christmas drinky", and I was like –'

Hermione turned away from the ramblings of her ex-boyfriend and crossed her arms in disgust. She looked around the pub but the forced festivities seemed empty and pointless. Surely there was more to Christmas than this? She had stayed in London with her friends for the last few years. It had been good to start with, but since she and Ron split up in the spring, she'd questioned her need to remain so tightly knit at Christmas, if ever. Even London seemed to constrain her now. She glanced back at her friends. Ron was still mouthing off, oblivious to her brewing disdain. Harry was tired and distracted, but he smiled benignly and humoured his oldest friend. Ginny was rubbing her boyfriend's back, clearly thinking about what they'd get up to later.

Hermione couldn't stand it. She downed the last of her wine and stood up, reaching for her coat.

'You going?' asked Harry.

'Yeah … I'm just … tired and all that.'

'Oh, I'm sorry. But we'll see you about half eleven Christmas Day.' Harry stood up to give her a farewell hug. As he pulled back, he searched her eyes. 'You okay, Hermione?'

She nodded unconvincingly. 'Yeah … I just …' She gestured at Ron. He was turned away from her, unaware she was even going.

Harry smirked. 'I understand. Sorry. At least he's happy.'

'Yeah … he's happy.' That was the thing. It was always Ron's happiness that mattered. It had always been assumed, somehow, that she would be fine. Hermione, ever reliable, ever sensible, able to take care of herself. She tried to return Harry's smile, said goodbye to Ginny and called across to Ron. 'Goodbye, Ron.'

No response. He was still in full flow.

'Goodbye, Ron!' she tried again.

'Wha-? Oh, right, you off already then?'

'Yup.'

'Okay, Mione, see you later.' He lifted his pint glass to her.

'Yup.' She left. Hermione paced down The Strand, her heels clicking out a terse staccato. Revellers were spilling from the pubs, tinsel adorning prominent cleavages, Santa hats worn askew on the heads of people who usually tried for the ultimate in chic.

A couple of men staggered out in front of her, their designer suits in disarray, their arrogant, City control gone in the haze of excessive alcohol, revealing the manchild beneath.

'Where you off to in such a hurry, darlin'?'

'Fancy jingling my bells, sweetheart?'

She pushed past them. They responded by rising whoops and a chorus of sexualised slurs. Hermione stopped, turned on the drunk pair and yelled, 'Oh, why don't you all just fuck off!'

'Whoa! Hold on, you stupid bitch! Just thought you might want warming up. Fuck off, yourself.'

'I will!' She turned and stormed off.

Hermione walked on and on, hardly knowing where she was going. Her feet started to ache, but she carried on through the crystal cold and clear streets of London. Eventually, she was vaguely aware of crossing the Mall and ending up in St James's Park. Maybe the pelicans would offer more in the way of conversation. But even they were asleep.

Hermione slumped onto a bench near a dense copse of trees, still fuming. Why, she wasn't entirely sure. Months, perhaps years, of frustration had built to this moment it seemed. For an age now since the war, she had been seeking something different, seeking escape. In London she thought she'd find it, but it hadn't happened so far.

She sat there, alight with tension, prickling with energy. She could feel her magic bursting from her, borne from her rage and passion. She had honed her skills further over the last few years and was regarded now as the most fearsome witch of her age. Sometimes it scared her, her power. Sometimes she wasn't sure she could control it. Sometimes she wished it would go away.

She had read and read, burying her frustrations in books. Wizarding books, history books, Muggle books, including those she had loved as a child, as if trying to recapture those lost dreams. Sometimes it was those Muggle books which helped her the most. Wizarding books dealt with a world that was real to her. Unbelievable at times, but real nonetheless, whereas the fantasy of the Muggle books was so wondrous as to be almost envied. At her darkest times, it was to those places that she would go – the worlds of Terry Pratchett and CS Lewis and Tolkien. Anything to get away from the Ministry and expectation … and Ron.

She threw her head up to the night sky and saw her breath clouding before her. 'Is this it? Is this really all there is?' she yelled aloud into the hollow air.

She was holding her wand before her, absentmindedly twirling it. She could feel her magic pulsing down her arm, flowing into her wand, which began to tingle and glow. She stared at it. She should stop this, but neither wanted to nor felt she could. She watched as a pale blue light began to emanate from it. A force she had never felt before coursed down her arm, and then, in a great silver arc of energy, it billowed out from her wand, knocking her off the bench. She fell in an unruly heap onto the cold ground.

'Shit!' she swore, picking herself up and smoothing down her clothing. What did it matter? There was no one around to see. She glanced about. The magic seemed to have evaporated harmlessly. She'd got away with it, however inadvertent it had been.

Hermione sighed and looked up the path. Her Chelsea flat seemed a long way away. She could apparate but lacked the energy. Taxi maybe. She stood up with a sigh, but before taking a step, she heard voices.

'What trickery is this? Orc spew be upon you! This is not Mirkwood, you elven fiend! If you have led me astray I shall hack off those ears of yours and feed them to the nearest oliphaunt!'

'Speak not to me, dwarf! It was you who suggested we follow the river. The consequences rest squarely on your shoulders.'

'I see the glint of water over there, but it is too light. And such a strange light – a glow, as if illuminated by the Arkenstone itself.'

Hermione took a step back. The language was familiar. Her heart started a tattoo in her chest. Instinctively, she held up her wand as two figures emerged from the trees.

The first was broad shouldered, muscular and dressed in black – leather and fur from what she could tell, great swathes of it. And then there was his hair. There was a lot, on his face and head. He was not tall for a man, but no shorter than her five feet four inches. His presence was immediately both commanding and imposing and he gave the impression of someone much taller. Beside him was someone of a complete physical contrast. This person was perhaps a foot taller than Hermione. In the gloom at night, she at first thought it was someone else entirely, someone she recognised all too well.

A name formed on her lips and she whispered to herself, 'Malfoy?' This person had long blond hair, just like Draco's father, and the same imperious expression and demeanour. But it only took a moment for Hermione to realise that this was not Lucius Malfoy. The Death Eater could hardly be described as unattractive (even Hermione acknowledged that) but the person standing before her now had a beauty which seemed to defy humanity. He stood erect and proud, surveying his surroundings.

And then they saw her. Her wand was still primed.

Immediately, the dark-haired one reached for a short sword he had in his belt and the blond one a long blade which seemed to gleam in the moonlight, almost imparted with its own light.

'Don't move!' she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. 'Drop your weapons.'

'I do not lower arms in the face of aggression. You too bear a weapon,' said the dark one. He had a remarkably deep and resonant voice and he fixed his stare on her with a resolve she found exhilarating.

They were clearly not going to drop their blades. The dark one took a slow pace towards her. She flicked her wand towards him, but the other then mimicked him, his step seeming to glide him closer. She darted her wand towards him instead. The other one moved again. She moved it back to him. This was crazy. Why didn't she just _stupefy_ them? But something was ticking away at the back of her mind, something mad, something extraordinary.

She took in the details of their clothing: the boots on the darker one, his piercing gaze, his determination, his build. And the blond one: the smoothness of his skin; the material of his clothing – Velvet? Silk? The most beautiful cloth she'd ever seen, not that she could properly identify it; and on his head a garland of some kind. Her heart beat frantically, but not with fear. She found her wand arm slackening despite the proximity of the armed strangers.

The taller one was closer to her now but she'd barely noticed his silent approach. He held up his blade slowly, studying her face as he did so. His eyes were a luminous blue, even in the dimness of the London night. Hermione did not move, almost bewitched by his appraisal. As he looked over her, she felt a strange pride that he deigned to grant her his consideration. He was the most stunning person she'd ever seen. An aura of near divinity seemed to emanate from him. His voice was low but smooth and refined. Silver. It made her think of silver.

'What are you? Elven? You have the beauty for it.' She flushed at his compliment. 'But not the height. You are no taller than my … _companion_ here.' He glanced briefly at the shorter one who sneered across at him. Companion he'd said, not friend.

The blond continued to hold up his blade, but rather than use _expelliarmus_ to send it flying, Hermione merely stood as he lifted it under her hair to draw the strands away from her face. He moved a lock behind her ear and examined what he'd revealed. 'No, not an elf. Woman, but spirited, I see. Tell us, maid, where is this place?'

Maid? If she hadn't been in such an extraordinary situation she would have laughed aloud. Her maidenhood was long gone.

'You're in St James's Park. Buckingham Palace is just over there.' She pointed through the trees where the lights of the Mall and the palace shone through. The two stared curiously and glanced at each other, clearly no more enlightened than before.

The dark one frowned. 'Palace? Where? Minas Tirith? The halls of Rohan? I know no palace with the name of which you speak.'

_Minas Tirith. Rohan._ Hermione knew those names. Exactly what magic had her frustrated passion unleashed? She stared at the two of them, wonderful and terrifying realisation creeping through her. 'You're … in London. In England. And I think … you're a long way from home.' She took a deep breath and steadied herself. 'Who exactly are you?'

The leather-clad one stepped forward first and fixed her with his dark gaze. It rooted her to the spot. 'I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the Mountain.'

Hermione struggled to catch her breath but darted her eyes immediately to the taller one.

'I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. And you, woman, have not told us your name. Kindly repay our courtesy.'

'I … I'm … I … I think I need to sit down a moment.'

And for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger fainted.

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**Merry Christmas! More in the next day or so. LL x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. Thanks for the fabulous feedback for this story. I will try to respond to you all ASAP. Bear in mind, this is not an epic tale where I explore dwarf lore and elven motivation, although I do love and respect Tolkien's universe. This is about me (and many others) fancying two characters and needing to write smut for them. Call it crack fic, if you will. I call it scratching an itch. I'm hard at work on the next few chapters and let's just say I'm enjoying them VERY much. Nudge nudge wink wink. LL x**

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'We must get her inside, into the warm. She needs food and drink.'

'Inside? Inside where, elven fool? If you were not so unaware, you would realise we are in a location unfamiliar to us both.'

'She mentioned a palace. We shall take her there. They will let us pass through the gates once they realise who I am.'

'Who _you_ are? Let me remind you, elf scum, of my own royal lineage.'

'Oh, desist for one moment, dwarf! This woman needs our aid.'

'Hmmf. Don't delay then. I shall carry her.'

'No, I shall.'

Hermione vaguely heard the conversation between the two, and now felt herself being tugged between them. But she was still in some strange state of half-awareness and lacked the ability to snap out of it. Her magic had clearly taken its toll.

'Leave her with me!'

'Very well, dwarf, you start, but when it becomes too hard for you to bear a fully grown human - as it shall - I shall take her from you.'

With that, Hermione felt herself being bundled up in someone's arms. The creak of leather made her half open her eyes. Thorin was holding her. Despite Thranduil's put down, he carried her with no perceivable strain. His features had a harsh, almost brutal quality but his eyes were hypnotically forceful. She could feel his inherent strength pulsing through him, and she knew that the hardness against her was not only the rigidity of his clothing, but pure muscle. Her senses were returning to her, but for the time being, she would stay just as she was. Being carried in the arms of Thorin, King under the Mountain, she had never felt safer. She closed her eyes, turned her head against his chest, and inhaled. He smelt different to how she imagined. The earthy richness of leather was strong on him, but so was the lingering aroma of smoke and a faintly metallic tinge which enthralled her.

They were walking, she knew that. She tried to remember where they'd said they'd take her. It must have been incredibly late by now, but London was never silent and there were still people around. Something told her this would all end stupidly, but for now, she could do nothing but lie back in Thorin's arms.

'We approach the gates,' came the voice of Thranduil. 'Come, let me take her.'

'She is more than comfortable with me.'

'It was our bargain, dwarf. You would not go back on your word, would you?'

'I do not recall giving you my word, elf.'

_Oh God, did these two always argue?_ Hermione feigned a little moan to distract them.

'She stirs! I will take her.'

She felt herself prized from Thorin's hold and into the arms of the blond elf. This time there was the smell of foliage and morning dew. She was clasped against the softest material, one that caressed and soothed her. But despite his seemingly gracile beauty, she was up against a hard, well-defined torso, not as bulky as the dwarf's impressive frame, perhaps, but as solid and masculine as she could want. After being carried by the two of them, she couldn't deny the tell-tale tugging in her belly. She instinctively pressed her legs together.

They paced on.

'We are here,' declared Thranduil after a time, his deep voice resonating through his chest and into Hermione.

'Hmm. Unimpressive. Is this the best the world of men can now offer? When I remember the great halls of Gondor of the past …'

'For once I agree. This gaudy addition is not amongst their finest architecture. Nevertheless, the inhabitants shall welcome fellow royal nobility. Call across. I presume those are guards over there, although their uniforms are crude and unflattering. They shall open the gates for us.'

_Shit!_ Hermione darted her eyes open. They had come all the way up to the gates of Buckingham Palace. What the hell was it going to look like? Her, slumped in the arms of some bloke with long blond hair, pointy ears and a long robe, alongside some hairy, pseudo Hell's Angel. And then there were the swords.

She tried to summon her strength and wriggled in Thranduil's arms.

'Be still, maid. You shall be warm soon. We are taking you into the palace.'

'Err … that's really not a good idea,' she managed to slur, but her head swam. Shit, she was still groggy.

'Nice costumes, mate. Good night, was it? She alright?' _Oh, bugger._ She turned her head to see a policeman coming their way, not a regular constable on patrol, but a heavily armed protection officer.

'I … I'm fine …' Hermione stuttered and managed at last to writhe her way free. She swayed a little as she found her feet and immediately was supported by Thorin on one side and Thranduil on the other. Not unpleasant. 'Just, you know … Christmas festivities. The head's going to be a bit sore tomorrow.' She glanced over at her companions, luckily their swords were masked beneath their dense clothing.

'I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Open the gates to this place. I shall pay homage to the royal persons within and ask for their hospitality. This woman needs shelter.'

The policeman cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. 'Right, I see. Friend of yours, is she, Her Majesty? Can't do that, I'm afraid, mate. Great ears, by the way. Looks like you spent a bit of time and money on those.'

Thorin stepped up to the officer. 'You heard him. Let us pass. Do you not know us?'

Hermione quaked, but luckily, the officer still seemed to be of the opinion that they were the worse for wear after some crazy Christmas night out. 'Yeah, I've seen the films, can't say I've read the books though. My mate goes to – what's it called – Comic Con? Gets all togged up as Aragorn and everything. Gotta say though, yours are the most impressive costumes I've seen. You're as close to the real thing I reckon you could get.'

Hermione took the opportunity to continue her pretend drunken stupidity. She laughed aloud. 'Ha ha! They are, aren't they? Cost a fortune, all this. Between you and me, they take it a bit too seriously. Anyway, sorry to bother you, officer. It's time I got these boys home.'

_Boys!?_ An immortal wood elf and a battle hardened dwarf king? She let out a little hysterical laugh at the ridiculousness of her words, but under the circumstances it fitted with her ruse.

'Home?' Thorin turned to her in admonishment. 'You cannot travel. You need immediate refuge and succour.'

Luckily, her strength was by now returning. She glared at him in frustration. 'No, I don't. I really, _really_ don't. Come with me. I'll take you home.'

She felt a hand on her arm pull her round and found herself staring into the extraordinary beauty of Thranduil's face. _God, he did things to her_. 'Are you quite sure of yourself? I offer you the chance to recover in royal surroundings.'

She swallowed, trying to ignore the squirming of her insides. 'Oh, I don't want to go in there.' She flapped her hand in the direction of the palace. 'Like you said, inferior and shoddy. They don't build them like they used to. Come on.'

With that, she linked her arms through both of theirs and dragged them away from the officer who called after them, 'I'd recommend going straight home, you lot. I don't want to see you around here anymore, understood?'

'Don't worry, we're going!' She flagged down a cab and, before the two could protest, bundled them all in. She gave her address to the driver, who was eyeing them curiously through the rear view mirror, and they were off at last. Hermione muttered a silencing charm to keep their conversation private.

'What do you think you are doing, woman?' asked the elf.

'Hermione. My name's Hermione. Stop calling me woman.'

'What is this strange contraption?' Thorin was studying the inside of the cab as if he'd never seen one before, which, clearly, he hadn't.

'It's called a taxi. It's taking us to my house. You two have got me into enough trouble for one night, so shut up and let's just get there.'

'And where is your home?' asked Thranduil.

'Chelsea. It's not far. Quite nice too, although you'll probably turn your nose up at it.'

They fell silent, Hermione in the middle, Thorin on her right, Thranduil to her left.

'No one has actually explained to me how I am no longer in Mirkwood,' said Thorin at last.

For a time there was silence, as if the realisation of their situation had finally hit home.

'No,' said Thranduil, dragging it out solemnly.

Hermione sighed. 'I think it might be something to do with me.'

'Explain.'

'You see, I … I'm not an ordinary woman.' She bit her lip, unsure how to continue. 'Most people here are normal - Muggles we call them - just normal men and women like the men and women you know. But some of my friends and I … we can do magic. I'm a witch.'

The two were not shocked, she could tell, but a little surprised. 'You don't look like a witch,' commented the elf.

'Well, what do your witches look like?' She couldn't think of any references to witches in Tolkien, come to think of it, but then Tolkien had never been great on female characters, much to her dismay.

'They look like our wizards, only without the beards … most of them.'

She glanced at Thranduil with a smirk. The great elf had cracked a joke.

'So, old and dishevelled then?'

'Yes.'

'Well, here, witches and wizards can be just like everyone else. We have a few who would fit with what you're used to, but most come across as regular humans. The Muggles don't even know we exist.' She glanced at the taxi driver. He was oblivious.

Thorin turned to her. 'But where is this place? Where are the Misty Mountains? The Shire? Where is Moriah?'

She frowned in remorse. 'I think my magic took you away from there. This is England, the United Kingdom, in 2015. You're no longer in your own time and place. You're no longer in Middle Earth.'

There was an uneasy silence.

'Then … how do we return?'

'At the moment … I don't know. But I will help you. I got you here, I'll get you back.'

The streets were nearly empty and they soon arrived in Chelsea. Hermione lived on the second and third floors of an elegant town house overlooking the river. It had cost her, but her elevated position in the wizarding world had led to considerable wealth in recent years, what with all the lecture tours and consultancy work. Her home was an investment and a reward and she loved it.

But Thorin and Thranduil were clearly not so impressed. They looked up at the façade with expressions of disdainful contempt. She was used to it by now and laughed it off. 'Come on. It's not so bad inside, and even if you think it is, it's all you've got at the moment. Don't worry, I've got space.' She glanced back at them with a smirk as she mounted the steps. 'You don't have to share.'

They followed her into and through the house. She turned and studied the sight. There was a Middle Earth elf and a dwarf in her living room. She sniffed out a laugh and lowered her head.

'What's so funny?' asked Thorin, his voice dark and low. He didn't like being laughed at.

'I can't believe you're here, that's all.'

'_You _can't believe it?'

She drew in a deep breath. 'Well, I think we could all use something to drink and eat. Sit down. Make yourselves at home. The bathroom's along there and to the right. I have wine, will that do?'

'No ale?' asked the dwarf.

'Actually, you might be in luck. I think I've got some London Pride Ron brought round a while ago.'

'Who is Ron?' said Thranduil.

'He's my boyf- … ex … a friend.'

'Not husband?'

'No. Definitely not.'

'You say that with a touch of defiance … Herm …' He paused, unable to remember her name.

'Hermione.'

'Hermione,' he repeated in that liquid voice. She glanced across at the elf. He sat upright and tall, his face almost glowing in its beauty, a slight smile on his face. She had to remember not to gawp. 'You are not yet married?'

'No.'

'Why not? A woman of your beauty and talents would be highly sought after, surely?'

She huffed with the archaic predictability of his sentiment. 'Well, when I'm ready, I'll be doing the seeking, thanks. We do things a little differently here.'

Thorin laughed. 'Spoken like a true dwarfish warrior queen. With my people, the females have the final say in who they mate with and marry. And you, Hermione, could take your pick.'

She glanced at him. The way he'd said 'mate with' caused that stirring inside again. Thorin was staring at her under his dark eyebrows, but the glint in his eyes dispelled the ruggedness of his features. She couldn't deny it; she found him disturbingly attractive. In his own way, he was as beautiful as Thranduil. She remembered the rock hardness of his body as he'd carried her. 'I'll … err … I'll just get the drinks and put some food on.'

Hermione hurried to the kitchen. 'Shit!' she swore under her breath. She braced herself against the worktop and closed her eyes, trying to take stock of the situation: Her magic had brought to life two characters from her favourite fantasy books; those two characters were currently sitting in an uneasy truce in her living room; she had no way of knowing how to get them back to their own world; … And she'd quite like to shag them both.

'Shit!' she swore again, not so much under her breath this time. She'd wanted something else, and it seems her wishes had been granted.

But why did it have to be so bloody complicated?

'Are you quite well, Hermione? You must remember that you were overcome earlier.'

She turned. Thranduil was standing in her kitchen. He came across, that faint smile on his face, his eyes penetrating through her, it felt.

'No, I'm fine. I just … you're here … it's a bit weird. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to have done this to you.'

'You need not apologise. I find this experience interesting. We will return when the time is right.'

'I'm glad you're so sure.'

'If I did not have the certainty of my convictions, my life would be meaningless.'

She smiled at him. He approached her again and drew up a hand to touch her face. His fingers were innately knowing and warm and his thumb stroked her chin as he took in every detail of her. She could look nowhere else. 'Hermione … a beautiful name, worthy of the fairest elven maiden.'

There we went with the maiden thing again. She blushed, partly through his attention, partly from shame that he'd probably be disappointed with the truth.

'Err … maybe you should stop calling me 'maid' and all that.'

'Why?'

'Like I said, we do things a little differently here. Sometimes the mating thing comes before marriage.'

An elegant eyebrow rose up. She'd shocked him. 'Sorry,' she muttered.

His lips quirked into a smile. 'You think this offends me?'

She shrugged. 'You seem to do things in a very ordered way.'

'My world has its rules, and they work for us. Other worlds have rules which work for them. I respect that. And I can see the benefits of a woman with … experience, shall we say.'

She let her eyes meet his again. His hand was still cupping her face. Oh, bloody hell, he could take her right here and she wouldn't stop him.

'I exercise restraint and patience in all I do, but there are some needs in life which I find harder to resist,' he said, his other hand now rising to hold her too. 'Hermione,' he hushed, searing her with those translucent eyes. Hermione's breath was catching. _God, if he didn't kiss her now_ … Thranduil leant in closer. Her desire was like nothing she'd known, as if they'd been transported away from all else, as if all she could ever want now or ever again was him.

'You mentioned some ale.' The low voice of the King under the Mountain pulled her out of the moment.

She moved out of the elf's hold. Thorin was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his feet braced, his broad frame rigid. His expression was fierce, murderous even. It only made him more magnificent. If he came up to her now next to Thranduil, she would not complain. Her head swam with lust, and her body wanted to crawl to them both. But she'd only just brought them to life! This was ridiculous, totally ridiculous. Reason told her to move away.

She turned her back on them both and reached for some glasses and bottles. 'Sorry … London Pride … brewed down the river … hope it's okay. And some Rioja for you.' She daren't look at them. They were already rivals, if she'd made them jealous as well, she dreaded to think what would happen.

She handed them their glasses without eye contact, put on the kettle for some pasta – how a dwarf and an elf would take to pasta was hard to say – and quickly left the kitchen, taking a large glug from her own glass of wine as she did so.

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**Eeny, meeny miney mo, which one first gets a go?**

**More very soon. xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**A chapter in which Hermione says 'umm' a lot. For good reason. You'll see. ;-) Your reviews and comments are so much appreciated. Thank you. Enjoy. x**

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Hermione downed her glass and poured another. She let them take a few drinks but found it hard to relax. 'Right, I'd better show you where we'll be sleeping. Where _you'll_ be sleeping! _You'll_!' she corrected, wide-eyed with horror at her slip. 'It's fine. I have space. Loads of it. Loads of rooms. My room's right down the end of the corridor, far, far away from you … so you won't be disturbed or anything.' _But please disturb me if you want to, _danced the fantasy in her head.

The elf and the dwarf were looking at her with frowns of confusion. For a moment, they turned to each other in mutual bewilderment.

'Right, so, this way. Umm …' She came to the spare room with the double bed and turned to Thranduil. 'You can stay in here. Bathroom's opposite.'

He stepped into the room and after taking a while to appraise his surroundings stood with his hands outstretched and his eyes closed.

'What's he doing?' Hermione whispered to Thorin.

'Being the self-absorbed, pretentious imbecile he always is.'

Thranduil was murmuring under his breath. _'Sanga kala, kalya sinome.'_

'Do you understand what he's saying?'

'I would not waste an ounce of time or energy learning that pointless language … but –' The dwarf cleared his throat before betraying surprisingly considerable knowledge. '– I believe _'kala'_ has something to do with light.'

'Ah.' Hermione stepped up to the elf. 'You could just – umm -' She leaned over and flipped the switch by the door. Light flooded the room. Thranduil gave a pinched sniff to cover his embarrassment.

Thorin sneered under his breath. 'Any excuse to show off.'

'Your turn!' She virtually pushed Thorin down the corridor and took him to the smaller spare room before the two could reignite their feud. She read the immediate lack of enthusiasm in his face. He huffed dispassionately.

'Is there a problem?' she asked, arms crossed.

'He has a larger bed.' The dwarf glowered, the muscle in his jaw working fast to stem his annoyance.

'Well, I thought … you know … he's a bit, umm … longer.'

The dwarf shot her a glare. Bad choice of word perhaps. She blushed scarlet and looked at anything but him.

Thorin continued. He may be petulant, but he delivered his grievances in such a gorgeously low, earthy voice that she could listen to him complain all night. 'My needs are equal to his. I require space just as he does. I tend to be very restless in the night … especially in unfamiliar circumstances … unsettled … active.'

She made the mistake of looking at him. He was staring straight at her, that blistering expression on his face again. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away. 'Well, sorry, this is it. It's perfectly comfortable … for one.'

There was a silence. She glanced at him again. He was still looking at her. _Oh, don't do that._ He could throw her onto the bed now, or the floor, or up against the wall, anywhere. If he kept staring at her like that, she may just have to throw _him_ up against the wall. 'Umm …' she murmured again in an attempt to distract herself from her raging lust. 'I think the kettle must have boiled. Excuse me.'

Hermione hurried down the corridor. She busied herself making some pasta. Luckily, they seemed to stay in their rooms. There were plenty of gadgets to discover. Hermione heard a television being switched on and the taps in the bathroom being turned on and off several times.

She threw together the pasta, put out some salad and called as casually as she could, 'Food's ready!'

The two emerged, Thorin first. He sat himself at the head of the table without hesitation. When Thranduil appeared he cast the dwarf a look of pure superior venom before seating himself with a flourish at the opposite end, where Hermione had intended to sit.

She gave each a full bowl of pasta. Thorin said a clear thank you and immediately began to eat. Thranduil, on the other hand, picked up his fork cautiously, and with an expression of contemptuous uncertainty, twined some pasta on the end and held it up for examination. 'What do you call this curious substance?'

'Spaghetti carbonara. It's very popular here.'

'And what reason is there for that?'

She couldn't suppress her sigh. 'Because it tastes good. Perhaps if you actually tried it, you'd realise.'

Thranduil brought the fork closer to his mouth but after a slight sniff recoiled away from it in disgust.

'Eat it, elf. You dishonour the lady. She has gone out of her way to provide for us.'

After a glare at his opposite number, Thranduil started to eat some salad. Even then, it was as if every mouthful was paining him.

'Would you just prefer some bread?' Hermione asked.

He held up a hand. 'My hunger is not severe. My last meal, consisting of the good food of my people, will last me long enough.' After picking at two more pieces of rocket, he put down his fork and waited silently.

Thorin, on the other hand, was devouring his bowlful. 'Thank you, my lady. I for one recognise a good meal when I am given it, and the kindness of strangers. You have gone to much trouble to provide for us and I assure you of my gratitude.' He finished with a smug look at Thranduil. Clearly, his appreciation of food outweighed his appreciation of sleeping arrangements. Their need to score points off each other was ridiculous. She tried to draw the discussion round to getting them back.

'So ... I need to work out how to get you back to Middle Earth. It may take some time, especially as I really don't know how you got here to start with. It may help to know what was happening when you were transported here.'

'We were scouting the area, trying to find a path through a distant part of the forest,' said the dwarf. 'It was suggested we try near a river.' He glared at the elf.

Thranduil gave a terse sigh. 'No, _you_ were scouting the area and that was your suggestion. I merely provided details of the terrain, if you recall. I was waiting while you gathered your ragged assortment of so-called associates into some sort of order.'

'You had granted us leave and promised us safe passage, but then we _somehow_ became disoriented after following your advice. Remind me in future to listen to my own head, you two-faced deceitful liar.'

Thranduil's nostrils flared. 'You should not have come through my kingdom in the first place, dwarf fiend. You know the perils of your kind venturing into our territory. I only promised what I did to honour Mithrandir. He has shown us great forethought and kindness in the past.'

'Gandalf has indeed helped us all, so why then betray those in whom he has put his trust?' Thorin had stopped eating and was rising slowly out of his seat, the veins in his forearms livid with rage.

'You think yourself so righteous in your purpose, but you are guided only by gold lust and greed, dwarf.'

'And you care not for these things? If you had your way, there –'

At that point, Hermione stood up and threw her fist down on the table. 'Enough!' She fixed them both with a look that would freeze blood. 'I don't care who said what to whom or who is after what gold or where you were going or whose woods you walked through to get wherever it is! Right now you are in _my_ home and at _my_ table and you will at least pretend to get on. I've got enough on my plate trying to work out how to house you, feed you and get you back to your own land, let alone referee your infantile squabbles and bickerings. When you finish – if you deign to eat it – put your plates over there. You know where you're sleeping – good night! Honestly, call yourselves kings? You're like two children in the playground! Just grow up!'

With that, she stormed out of the kitchen and went to sit in the living room.

Late night slid into the dark silence of early morning. They didn't disturb her, and despite listening intently for sounds of discord, it became quiet. She heard doors opening and closing and footsteps in the corridor, but little else. They must have gone to bed.

Hermione sat, trying to make sense of her extraordinary day. She released a sigh. She'd wanted more, hadn't she? She knew about this kind of magic: wish fulfilment magic. She knew it worked in extreme situations with intense longing, but only to those deserving of it. Was she deserving? Surely not. She sat on the sofa and pulled her knees up, hugging them in tight. But then again it was Christmas. Perhaps this was her present. But what exactly was she supposed to get out of it? The answer was surprisingly simple. Hermione smiled to herself and rubbed her chin distractedly along her knee. Everyone deserved something special sometimes, didn't they? She pictured them both, the one dour but darkly attractive, the other stunning beyond reason, tall and enticing …

'I apologise for my conduct.'

Hermione gasped and spun her head to look behind her. Thranduil was standing in the living room, noble, elegant, inscrutable, but now, for the first time, with a look of genuine humility on his face. 'I greatly value your hospitality and kindness. Indeed, I do not know what would have befallen us if we had not happened upon you. It is a most perplexing world in which we find ourselves.'

She smiled gently. 'I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have lost my temper, but I still can't believe this has all happened. I mean you're not even –'

'What? I'm not even what?'

Real, she had meant to say. They weren't real. This was a dream, a fantasy.

'Never mind,' she said.

A fantasy, a wish come true. The manifestation of it was now walking slowly towards her. God, he really was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. She hugged her legs tighter, longing for some physical relief from the ache of desire which was crippling her.

'Hermione,' he said, silken smooth. 'I am glad to be here. I am glad that you found me … or perhaps I found you. Did you not think that? That our coming together is design, not fortune?'

_Coming together._ Oh God, did he know what he'd just said? 'Umm …' It was all she could think at that moment.

He slowly reached down a hand to her. She looked at it, as if taking hold of it would send her careering down a path she couldn't control, but then reached up her hand and placed it in his. Thranduil closed his long fingers around hers and she felt herself rising to her feet, not pulled exactly, although that is what was happening, but floating rather.

She stood directly before him, a mere inch away, and had to crane her neck to look up into his eyes. She asked softly, 'You said something to me before.'

'What was that?'

'You said that … although you were restrained in most things, there were some needs that were harder to resist.'

Thranduil smiled, that soft, enticing smile of invitation. 'Indeed, that is so. My wife passed from me many centuries ago, and in that time I have had no wish to isolate myself from intimacy. I am a king, Hermione. My position allows freedoms other elves are not permitted.'

'I've found recently that … I've also been missing something. It's as if I'm searching for something …' She blushed and dropped her head. He brought a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she was forced to look at him again.

'Continue. Tell me, beauteous lady, tell me what you are seeking.'

'I'm not sure, but I think perhaps that's one reason you're here. I think perhaps you're here for me, because … I want you to be.'

'You want me?'

She nodded.

'In that case … you have found what you seek.' He bent his head and kissed her. It was the warmest, softest kiss she had ever had, yet there was something inherently present about it, something that seemed to ground her, to bind her to him. She coiled her arms about his neck, feeling his hair running like gossamer through her fingers, and pulled him in harder. He responded. If his lips were soft and warm, they were still incredibly determined. His hands moved from cupping her face to sliding around the back of her head, and he held her firm, inescapably.

Despite the sense of assurance, it was also a kiss of complete abandon, open mouthed and deep. After making her dizzy with desire, he broke away to kiss down her neck and she felt her clothes being loosened. 'Is this right?' she murmured. 'Is it alright to do this?'

'Right? Does it not feel right?'

'Uh huh,' she slurred. 'So right.' She pulled him back for another kiss. He had already managed to draw off her shirt and was now pushing down her jeans.

'There is your answer. If two people are free and they desire … then they should do.'

'But I'm not an elf.'

'And I am not in my world. The rules of the universe are bending to suit us. I was brought here for a purpose, Hermione. _You_ are that purpose. _This_ is our purpose. Now … give yourself to me.'

Why hadn't anyone said that to her before? It bloody worked!

Thranduil set about removing every item of her clothing. He was singularly focused, and she stood there quite still and silent as if a hallowed atmosphere had descended. When he had finished, he stood back and studied her. 'Such beauty, remarkable in one not of my race.'

She forgave him his arrogant observation. She was enjoying his attentions too much, and when he reached for the hooks on his own clothes, she forgot all about it. Hermione watched, her breathing shallow, as he shrugged off his robes, which fell into a shimmering pool at his feet. Soon he stood before her in only the tightest breeches, his torso completely naked.

Bloody hell, could such a perfect body exist? For someone with such elegance, she had never seen such masculine perfection. His muscles were smooth, rippled and defined. He stood tall for a moment, as if giving her time to appreciate what was before her, then pushed down the breeches and revealed … the rest.

Hermione swallowed. Any doubts she may have had as to whether elves had all the same bits as men were banished, exiled and trampled into oblivion. Oh. Yes.

She was gawping now, but there really was nothing she could do about it.

'You see me at my most defenceless.' _Defenceless!? With that lethal weapon?_ 'I open all I am to you, my lady. Do I have your approval to continue?'

'Umm …' _Come on, Hermione, re-engage brain_. 'Umm …' She just nodded. He kissed her as if he'd never kissed another before. In the midst of the kiss she found herself guided back to lie on the sofa. He kissed along her neck, down and down, pliant kisses which seemed to leave little marks of fiery pleasure. His right hand found its way almost secretly between her legs. She'd been wet since they'd carried her to Buckingham Palace, she must be soaking now. When one of his fingers parted her outer lips and glided over her nub, she gasped with the sheer sudden pleasure of it.

Thranduil broke away from his kisses to give her a curious look, almost as if taken by surprise. But he soon lowered his head again and took a nipple in his mouth. He sucked and nipped, drawing pure sensation from it which coupled with the swelling pleasure he was coaxing out with his fingers.

She moaned, an unsuppressed moan of pure gorgeousness. God, this man – _elf!_ – knew what he was doing.

Then he put a hand over her mouth. Hard.

It surprised her, but she wasn't about to complain. She couldn't pretend she didn't like a bit of domination. And he was a king, after all. If that was the way he wanted to do things, she'd get used to it. She moaned against his palm and got a firmer hold in return. He seemed to go at her more fervently. Two fingers pressed hard up inside her, finding her g-spot and tapping away until she nearly came. He still tugged and nuzzled her nipples, adding his teeth for the most delicious pangs.

When his fingers slipped out and returned to her clit, she was hurled past the point of return. She was there, falling, pleasure rushing through her headlong. Her limbs shook and her toes curled with the force of her orgasm. She tried to cry it out but any sound was caught in the hand still clamped hard over her lips. Only when every ounce of pleasure had left her did he release his grip on her mouth. She panted hard, but before she had time to thank him or speak, he had pushed her legs apart and was inside her.

Hermione's eyes widened in sheer surprise. He was long and had entered her with no forewarning, but she was full, and that sense of grounding returned, as if there was no other way of being. She reached up and clasped him to her. His skin was so smooth it was almost silken. Thranduil kissed her again, all the while moving sublimely inside her. She gripped his back, adoring the feel of his muscles as they flexed under her fingers. He inhaled deeply through his nose with each thrust but kept his mouth clamped tightly shut. The intensity of his concentration turned her on so much she felt another orgasm fast approaching.

'Oh God,' she moaned. His eyes opened and he pushed up to look at her again. He must be nearly there too. He lay down and continued moving, but his hand rose to her mouth again. Before he could cover it she caught a finger in her mouth and sucked, twirling her tongue on it. He moved harder.

Merlin, she'd come again! Hermione bucked up to draw him further in and whined, groaning out her need for more. Thranduil lifted himself off and stopped moving. He was staring down at her in confusion bordering indignation.

She looked up, bewildered. 'What is it?'

'Are you in pain?'

She almost laughed aloud. 'No.'

'Am I hurting you?'

'What? You're incredible. You're making me feel incredible. Please, please don't stop. Just … move in me again. Oh God, please move.' She bucked along him, urging him to move. Another moan emerged with her frustration.

'Then why do you make these noises?'

'What?'

'These strange noises – moans and wails. They are sounds of pain.'

'No, they're not. They're sounds of pleasure, of abandon. I don't even know I'm doing it.'

'You must not.'

'What?'

'When we lie together, we are silent.'

'When who lies together?'

'My people. The sanctity of the moment must not be broken by noise.'

Hermione could barely believe what she was hearing, but right now her need to finish overrode all else. 'Thranduil … I … please … please don't stop … Don't you want to carry on?'

'Of course. You fit me like no other, and you give me extraordinary pleasure, but this is strange for me, perplexing. Will you be silent?'

'I …' She really wasn't sure she could. 'I'll try.'

He kissed her again, and he kissed her so incredibly well that right then she'd do anything for him. Thankfully, he started to move again. He was holding her head in his hand and his thumb was close enough to take in her mouth. She concentrated all her oral energy into that to prevent any illicit moans, sucking so hard it must have hurt him. He seemed to like it. His brows furrowed in that look she recognised as the approach of ecstasy. He may be silent but he communicated his pleasure in other ways.

Despite their silence, his skill had brought her swiftly to the brink of another climax, and with only a few more thrusts she came again, stupendously, pleasure juddering through her harder than ever. She was still gripping his back. When she felt him tense and the faintest shudder ripple through him, she knew he'd come.

He lay on top of her afterwards, his breathing fast but still remarkably quiet. She stroked his back and felt him deep and hard within her.

'Am I allowed to say thank you?' she asked gently.

He lifted his head and smiled. 'Yes. When a coupling is completed, you may say anything you wish.'

'You're a wonderful lover.'

'As are you.'

'But … is that always the way?'

'What?'

'Silence.'

'Yes.'

'But don't you find it hard?'

'We are accustomed to it. I have, after all, had many thousands of years to accustom myself to it.'

'Did you really not like it when I moaned?'

'It surprised me. It confused me. I thought I was hurting you.'

She pushed herself up and smirked. 'Oh, believe me, you were definitely not hurting me. Thranduil, I'm not sure I can be quiet every time. You make me feel too good.'

'But it is my way.'

'But it's not _my_ way. And sometimes, my Lord,' she teased, 'it's good to try new things. Like you said, it may be beneficial to have a woman of experience.'

He contemplated her for a time then softly returned her smile.

'Now, we can't stay here all night. Your bed or mine?' she asked.

Thranduil kissed her once more and murmured against her lips, 'I believe I can remember the way to mine.' With that, he stood and lifted her up. For the second time that night, she found herself being carried in the arms of the Elven King. As he bore her into the bedroom she glanced down the corridor. The door of the Dwarf King was firmly shut.

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**Umm ... next ...? x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy New Year! Thanks, as always, for the comments and reviews. For those who weren't convinced by the silent sex, you may find this chapter more compelling. And then some. And for those following another story of mine with a certain pirate captain, this may be your lucky day. But for now, back to lucky Hermione. And she really is so very lucky, jammy cow.**

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It was some ridiculous hour when they finally fell into bed. Hermione was exhausted. As much as she would have liked to explore the beautiful man beside her some more, it would have to wait. So, with Thranduil's arms coiled about her, she fell asleep, as content as she could remember for many months.

The next day was Christmas Eve. She woke up before the elf and looked at him asleep beside her. If she could draw beauty, it would look like this. He had the longest eyelashes, the straightest nose and a mouth that compelled you to kiss it. But all of this was merely the icing on top of the most stunning male body. She knew he was a warrior, and as she looked at the firm swells and lines of his muscles, pronounced even at rest, she did not doubt his indomitability.

She couldn't help herself; she planted a kiss on the curve of one of his broad shoulders. He didn't seem to stir, so she continued, kissing along his chest until she reached his sternum. He inhaled deeply. She glanced up. His eyes were still closed but she wondered if his lips were curled up slightly more than they had been. She continued, kissing, tasting, running her tongue down until she reached his belly button. By the time she had kissed twice more, she was stopped in her progress by something nudging the back of her head. She turned and looked.

Hermione couldn't stop a grin forming. He was like any man she'd known – as hard as rock in the morning. Usually, she'd pretend to sleep and wish it would go away, but not today. She glanced up at his face. He was definitely smiling now.

'Good morning, my Lord Thranduil,' she teased, knowing how calling him that would stroke his already impressive ego. 'I see you have risen early.'

The elven king pushed himself up and took her by the arms, pulling her in for a kiss. 'Good morning, lady Hermione.' He kissed her deep, and when he at last pulled back held her head in his hands and looked her hard in the eyes. 'You are indeed a witch … for you have me under your spell.'

They kissed again, a deep, slow kiss of unfurling pleasure, but this time it was Hermione who broke away. She looked back at his cock, still magnificently erect. 'You interrupted me.'

A smirk tugged at his lips. 'How rude. Pray … continue in your endeavours.' He lay back and pushed the sheet down, inviting her onto him. But Hermione moved instead to lean over him, bracing both her arms on either side of his head. He frowned in query.

'I'll gladly continue, but you must promise me this,' she said.

'What?' She could hear the tell-tale catch in his breath. He was as desperate for her as she was for him.

'I want to hear you.'

His frown deepened.

'I want to hear all of you – your needs, your desires, your deepest wishes. I want to hear you moan for me, I want to hear you whine. I want to hear what you want. Instruct me, direct me, tell me exactly what to do. And then I want to hear you come. I want to know you're coming by the sound of you as much as by the feel of you. Do you understand … my Lord?'

For a moment his face darkened and she thought he would rise from the bed and storm out. He stared at her, his brilliant eyes incandescent with torment. She took the opportunity to let the tip of her tongue catch her bottom lip. His eyes flicked to it.

His breath was shallow. 'Yes.'

She gave him a sly smile of victory and moved down the bed.

God, it was a magnificent cock. Elves clearly had the same traditions as many human religions and cultures. The head was cut and bulbous, with a tempting drop on the very tip. She extended her tongue and let the drop ooze onto it. No sound. Hermione flattened her tongue and pressed it against the underside of the head, then ran it up and over.

His breath caught in his throat, faint but audible.

She glanced up. He had propped himself up in order to watch her. She dipped her head and ran her tongue from the base right up to the head, then closed her mouth fully over it and sucked in slowly.

He groaned. He definitely groaned.

After sucking lightly for a few seconds, she pulled off, letting her lips drag over the thick head slowly. 'Tell me,' she reminded him, her mouth poised only an inch from his damp cock, waiting.

His Adam's apple lurched along his neck. 'Again,' he said, a murmur more than anything.

'I didn't hear you.'

His eyes narrowed in frustration but he repeated, clearer this time, 'Again. Do that again.'

She repeated her actions: the long slow lick from the root up, the drag over the head and the slow suck. Another groan, longer and louder this time. She pulled off. 'Do you like that?'

He released a long breath, a loud breath, and with it came confirmation. 'Yes, I like it. Go back to it. Suck it.'

She smiled in satisfaction. Hearing this near-divine being tell her to suck his cock in that silver voice of his sent a roll of darkest pleasure through her. She closed her mouth fully around the head once more. He groaned again, the most sexual sound she'd ever heard, propelled from his very core. God, it was vocal porn.

And then she felt a hand on her head. He tangled his fingers through her hair and held her onto him. 'Don't stop that. Harder, suck me harder, you witch.' He was learning fast. Not only had he found his voice, he was effortlessly dominant. And she loved it.

She sucked and sucked until the length of his cock became wet with her spittle. Closing her fingers around the shaft, she started to work him with her hand, pumping the hard flesh. He maintained his hold upon her. She needed to come up for air and forcibly pulled off with a gasp. She lay back for a moment, panting heavily.

Suddenly, Thranduil pushed himself round and knelt up before her, his cock rearing out from his beautifully flat abdomen. 'You haven't finished,' he stated, his voice smooth but unequivocal. She got onto all fours and looked up at him. 'Open.' She couldn't help smirking. He was adoring his new vocal freedom as much as she was. She parted her lips for him and he twined her hair in his fist to hold her steady. With that, he fed his cock into her mouth, deeper, deeper, testing how far she could take it.

'Good. Very good,' he mused. 'By Elwë, I am pleased to have found you.'

She held him in his throat, clenching on him. He moaned, all concept of silence obliterated by his approaching climax.

'Will you take it?' he asked between pre-orgasmic pants. 'My seed should not be spilt outside the body.'

Another archaic elven sexual ritual. Luckily for him, this one she could handle. She nodded, her mouth still full of cock.

'Take me then, take it all.' His last words turned into a groaning grunt as he pumped himself through her lips. She sucked them tight while gripping his shaft. Thranduil's took her head in both hands and held himself in her. She heard him first, the most incredible sound. A noise of unleashed male ecstasy flowed from him raw and wild as he released cataclysmically into her mouth.

When he finally quietened, she pulled off gently and swallowed. He tasted like he smelt, fragrant and heady like the woods of his homeland. Thranduil knelt back on his haunches, eyes closed, his chest taking deep breaths of satiation.

Hermione knelt up, curled her hands around his neck and whispered against his ear, 'You see? Sometimes noise can be nice.'

'Nice?' he smirked, dragging open his eyes and returning her smile. 'That word is far from adequate for what you just did to me.'

'It wasn't so bad though, was it, being vocal?'

He shook his head. 'It was incredible – liberating, empowering. The pleasure was beyond words.' He took her head and kissed her. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome. Promise me that next time you'll let me make some noises of my own.'

He smiled and stroked her cheek. 'I promise.'

She pushed herself nimbly off the bed and crossed to the door. 'I'll get you some tea.'

'Tea?'

'You'll like it, trust me. Even you. It's a morning ritual in this land. And a mid-morning one … and … just about every other time of day too. You get used to it.' She smiled and sauntered out, padding along to her own room first to put on her dressing gown. As she headed back to the kitchen, Thorin was emerging from his room in only a tunic and belt. Even the tunic was stretched tight across his impressive frame.

'Oh! Morning.' She blushed scarlet.

He inclined his head to her. 'Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well?'

'I should be asking you that. You're my guest.'

'As well as I sleep anywhere.'

'Was the bed large enough for you?'

He looked at her and smirked. 'It was adequate, thank you.' She'd forgotten how good she felt when he looked at her.

'I was just getting some tea. I'll bring you some. Have a shower or a bath. I'm sure you can work it all out.'

'Shower?'

'It's that square glass thing in the corner of the bathroom. It gives you a flow of water from above, like rain, but hot and powerful.' _Just like you_, she thought but managed not to say it out loud. 'Very exhilarating. Try it.' And then she could think of only one thing: Thorin in the shower, soap suds pouring down his incredible body, head back, hair long and dripping down his back, mouth open to draw in air as steam rose off him.

'I'll just … umm … get the tea.' She hurried past him and into the kitchen.

Shit! Guilt. That was the emotion of the day so far. And she'd only been up five minutes. Guilt for Thorin that she'd slept with Thranduil and guilt for the elf that she still fancied the dwarf.

She put on the kettle.

SHIT! What if Thranduil said something to him? What if he boasted? What if he came over and pulled her in for some epic elven snog right in front of Thorin?

'I would like to go outside.'

She screamed and threw the plate of digestive biscuits in the air.

'Hermione? What is troubling you?'

Thranduil stood in the kitchen in only his outer robe and those impossibly tight leather breeches, if you could call them that. They were tight enough to be … tights, after all. Leggings … did men wear leggings? Lace-up leather leggings? She was staring at them now, she realised. Her eyes moved up to his incredible face, past his equally incredible naked torso. Oh God …

He cocked an eyebrow. 'Are you not well?'

'I'm fine! I just … Sorry, you just sort of startled me. Here, tea. Promise me you'll at least try it.'

Thranduil smiled and took the mug she was offering. He took a sip and looked up at her darkly. Was there nothing he liked?

'Pleasant. It reminds me of a restorative cordial we drink at home.'

'Success at last!' she grinned. 'You could even try a biccie if you wanted.'

'Biccie?'

'Biscuit. A round sweetened wheat snack. Along with tea, the backbone of England.' He took one and nibbled at the edge. 'Now, what were you saying when you scared the living daylights out of me just then?'

'I wish to go outside.'

Her stomach turned over. 'I don't think that's a good idea. I certainly can't let you go alone.'

'I am not a child, Hermione. I am thousands of years old.'

'Well, that would definitely qualify as being a grown up, I'll admit. But your behaviour yesterday didn't exactly fill me with confidence.'

'There is a river. I suggest that I simply walk along the river. I speak to no one, I engage with no one. After I have walked for some time, I return here.'

She sighed and crossed her arms. 'But there's all the traffic. You know that weird thing we travelled in yesterday – that's called a car. On the outside, they're hard and they're fast. If that hits you, your immortality is going to be severely tested.'

'I have been observing them. They journey along their respective sides of the pathway, do they not, not converging?'

'Technically.'

'And they stop when the red globe illuminates, only moving when the green one shines.'

'You pick things up fast.'

'I need fresh air, Hermione. I assure you I will be careful.' He approached her and stroked her face, smiling softly. 'Your concern for me is touching but permit me to go outside. An elf needs contact with nature.'

She cocked a cynical eyebrow. 'You're in central London. I'm not sure how much nature you're going to find.'

'Please.' The Elven King was pleading with her.

She sighed again. 'Alright, but you can't go out looking like that. I mean, not that it's unappealing or anything, but you may get a bit more attention than you need. Wait there.'

Hermione went to her room. Ron had left a stash of clothes in her house when they were together and had never got round to retrieving them. She picked the least offensive items she could – a pair of jeans and plain shirt. Ron wasn't as tall as Thranduil, but she cast a stretching spell which expanded the clothes. She returned and offered them to the elf.

'Here. Try these.'

Thranduil held up the objects suspiciously but put them on. Hermione stifled a laugh. He fit the clothes well but his hair flowed out around him like some strange long halo.

'What?'

'Nothing. You look good, but you might want to do something with this.' She held up a lock of his hair. Taking one of her own scrunchies from the worktop, she pulled the thick hair back into a ponytail then fetched a coat of Ron's. After stretching that too, she helped him on with it over his hair. 'Best to tuck it away. You don't want to draw too much attention to yourself.'

'Feet.'

'Excuse me?'

'What am I to do with my feet?'

Ron hadn't left any shoes. 'Hang on.'

She returned with a pair of red high heels she rarely wore. Thranduil cocked an eyebrow. 'Those?'

She smirked. 'Wait.' She took her wand and muttered a morphing spell. The stilettos changed into a pair of Chelsea boots before their eyes.

'Impressive,' he said.

'Go on then, you're ready. Remember – don't speak to anyone. Walk along the river, then come back. Got it?'

'Do not fear.' He bent down and kissed her. 'When I return … I will make you cry out the way you made me.'

She wanted to melt into him. 'Promise?'

'I give you my word.'

'Don't be long.'

He smiled a final time and left the house. Hermione stood at the window, watching him go. He managed to negotiate the traffic and survive crossing the road. A good start. When he reached the bank of the river he turned and raised a hand to her. She waved back and he started up towards Westminster.

Hermione tried to ignore the twist of worry. She headed back to her en-suite for a shower, but as she passed the other bathroom she heard something. Singing.

'_Far over the misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old. We must away ere break of day to find our long forgotten gold.'_

Thorin was singing, singing in the richest, most beautiful baritone she had heard. He strung the words and melody together in such a way that she wondered if there was magic attached to it. She stopped, captivated by the voice. _'The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night.'_

As softly as she could, she leaned against the door and placed her hands upon the wood, pressing her ear against it to hear more. The rich sonority drifted to her. _'The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.'_

At length he stopped and, coming quickly to her senses, Hermione moved back just in time for the door to be opened. Thorin, surprise but not anger clear on his face, stood there in no more than a towel slung around his midriff.

Hermione couldn't move. She didn't really want to, admittedly, but she at least made the effort not to drool.

'Umm … hi. Nice shower?'

'Hmm,' he hummed, staring at her curiously. 'I found it refreshing.'

'Good.' She couldn't stop staring. Those muscles she'd felt through his clothing? Yup. There they were. My God, there they were. She didn't usually go for overly bulked up guys, but there was something so irrepressibly male about him that she was enthralled by his body. She doubted she could fit her hands around one wrist, let alone a bicep. But the strange thing was, his upper body was completely free of hair, save for a natural growth further down his forearms. His torso was smooth and hardened, like polished wood. She wanted to touch him so much she almost whined.

'Is there something wrong, my lady?' he asked in that gruff voice that became alluringly soft when alone with her.

'No, sorry, I … just … hope you found everything you needed.'

'I believe so. Once again, I value your kindness.' With that he smiled a little and inclined his head, making some of his damp hair fall before him. She wanted to take it and brush it back behind his shoulder. Thorin stood tall again and asked, 'Where is the elf?'

'He went out. Mad, I know, but he was determined.'

'So we are alone?'

'Yup! All alone! Just you and me!' She laughed and swallowed hard, still staring at those glorious pecs. He had these little dark nipples which made her want to …

'Hermione?'

God, that voice, so low, verging on rough but still so incredibly glossy. He stepped into her, his extraordinary abdomen only a hand's length away. 'Yes?' She actually sighed it out all breathy, like a sort of pathetic medieval damsel. But who cared? She stepped closer to him.

'Hermione … Might I trouble you for some food?'

'Oh. Yes. Of course. I'll umm … yes. I'll be in the kitchen.' She took several staggering steps backwards before turning and almost running from him down the corridor.

SHIT! It had only been – what? – an hour since she'd been hanging off Thranduil's knob and now here she was ogling someone else. Not only that, neither of the two people she was gagging for was human! She was turning into a crazed, obsessed nympho with a fantasy fetish or something! SHIT! She reached for the bread in an attempt to distract herself and hacked away at it, spreading butter like a fiend on the slices.

Thorin came in, humming the song. Oh God, his humming was even sexier than his singing if that was possible. She considered whether the kitchen table was strong enough to support two copulating individuals.

'Bread?' she turned and held the plate out to him. 'I have jam, honey, Nutella.'

'Nutella?'

'It's a chocolatey, hazelnutty type spready thing.' _And right now I'd like to smear it all over you and lick it off._

'Honey, thank you.'

She watched as he spread honey thickly on his bread then ate it, chewing voraciously and occasionally sucking the drips of honey off his powerful fingers. It counted as foreplay as far as she was concerned. It was certainly having the same effect. She sat, her legs crossed tightly together.

He glanced at her and paused. 'Do I have crumbs in my beard?'

'What?'

'You're staring at me.'

'Oh. Sorry. No. I just … Sorry.'

He gave the slightest smirk.

'I heard you singing earlier.' She had to mention it. The memory of it did too many good things to her.

'It is a song of my people and my quest.'

'To recover the gold of Erebor?'

'Yes.'

'It's very important to you, isn't it?'

'It is everything to me. There is nothing else.'

'Such dedication must take a lot of sacrifice.'

He glanced at her briefly before returning to his food. 'Sacrifice means you give up things you otherwise want. There is nothing else I want. I do not need to sacrifice, I simply need to do.'

'But, what about your family and your friends?'

'They understand. They are with me.'

'Your wife?' she dared. She suspected he wasn't married but confirmation would be nice.

'I have no wife.'

Relief settled quickly. 'Don't you want one? Don't you want children?'

'I will not bring a child into a world where its people are dispossessed due to the loss of their birthright.'

'But afterwards? When you have your gold?'

He looked at her. 'You believe I will get it back?'

'I have every faith in you, Thorin.'

He held her eyes and she saw fierce pride in his. 'Afterwards?' he sighed, returning to her question, and smiling ruefully. 'I have never found a female of my kind whom I would consider suitable.'

'Why not?'

'Forgive my shallowness, but I have travelled far and had many experiences, shall I say. Dwarf females are not as fair as others I have seen … Hermione. I have been spoilt by the beauty of other races, I sometimes feel. Many of my kind are – how to put it? – not easy on the eye.'

'You are.'

He gave a half smile. 'You flatter me. I am descended from a long line of kings. We have bred wisely and well over the years. My line is fortunate in our noble looks and our height, it is said. My nephews, Fili and Kili, they are most handsome, by all accounts. You would like them.'

She paused momentarily then looked straight at him. 'I like you.'

He stared back, his eyes so commanding she felt as if he was drawing her into him by his gaze alone.

'And your beauty, my lady, outshines the Arkenstone itself. You distract me from my task.'

'Perhaps you need that … every so often. Why would you have been pulled out of your world otherwise?'

He reached a hand across to her and she took it. Strong fingers immediately closed around hers in a grip that she thought she could never escape from. At that moment, she didn't want to. He stroked her hand with his thumb and she felt a tug as he pulled her closer. 'The radiance of your beauty is beyond a distraction. It has dazzled me. I want you as much as the gold I seek. I can think only of-'

He was interrupted by the front door opening. Thranduil's voice could be heard clearly in the hallway. 'What a noisesome and dirty place this is. I am glad to be back to you, my Hermione. Now, I shall keep my word. Let me take your exquisite body again and I will make you cry out as none other has before.'

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**Uh oh. LL x**

**NB - It seems that there might be a problem reviewing at the moment. That's a shame, as if you feel like it, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter. If you can't review logged in, try doing so as a guest, as I think guest reviews work, so you could have a go that way if you fancy it. It may be fixed by the time I get this reposted! x  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the wait on this one. With the holidays over, updates won't be so frequent. That said, I don't intend this to be overly long or to make you wait long for a conclusion. Also, I split this and the next chapter into two after originally writing only one. I'll be posting the next one very soon. You'll want it, believe me. ;-) x  
**

**(Oh, and I'd better do the plug thing. I write original erotica and erotic romance under the penname Demelza Hart. Stories available on Amazon and all good online retailers if you're interested. Quick links on profile page.)**

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Hermione managed to snatch her hand out of Thorin's hold just before Thranduil appeared. He stopped and looked down at them, the smile on his face fading fast as he saw them seated together. She knew she was red. Beyond red, she was so flushed with guilt and embarrassment she could scarcely breathe.

She daren't look at Thorin. Suddenly, there was a violent scrape as he pushed his chair back from the table and stormed from the room, making Thranduil take a swift but elegant side-step to avoid him.

Hermione stared at the fruit bowl and clasped her mug of tea. The dishwasher beeped the end of its cycle.

'Did I interrupt something?' asked the elf, his tone icy.

She shook her head.

'Why his sudden haste?'

She shrugged.

Thranduil approached her and stared down. She still couldn't look at him. He placed a single finger under her chin and drew her head up. She was forced to meet his eyes.

'I expect honesty, Hermione, certainly in those with whom I have experienced intimacy.'

'I am honest,' she said with sudden defiance, standing up and meeting his glare. 'Nothing was going on.'

'But you wish it?'

'What?'

'You desire the _dwarf?_' He sneered at the word dwarf as if he found the idea ridiculous and disgusting. It angered her even more. If he wanted her honesty, he would get it.

'He's attractive, yes.'

'How is that? That is inconceivable.' His face twisted in disbelief.

'You asked for the truth, Thranduil. Nothing happened between us, but, yes, I find him attractive, just like I find you attractive.'

'How? That cannot be. He is of no great height and he is bearded and brutish, base and vulgar.'

'I don't find him like that. I think he's very genuine and passionate.'

Thranduil raised himself tall. 'I came back to make love to you. I longed for it. I hurried back to you … and I find you being seduced by that hirsute spawn of a hog.'

'He wasn't seducing me. And, despite what you think, I'll say it again – nothing happened. I find many men attractive. I still find you incredibly attractive.' She began to walk out past him but turned to stress, 'But I don't like arrogance, and I certainly don't like control. Not unless I give it to you.'

She paced out and headed for her room, passing Thorin's. His door was open. She paused and looked in. He stood near the window, his arm braced on the frame as he looked out. He turned and looked round at her, his expression dark, full of rage.

She stood her ground. 'May I come in?' she asked.

'Why?'

'I'd like to talk to you.'

He was breathing heavily, his anger livid in his powerful body. 'The elf went out … I was thinking I would do the same.'

Hermione dared. 'Perhaps I can come with you.'

He again turned his stony glare onto her. 'I thought you would prefer to remain alone with him.'

'I told you – I'd like to talk to you.'

Thorin took a sudden deep intake of breath and banged his fist violently against the wall. He bowed his head, his breathing heavy. 'You have lain with him.'

She let his claim hang in the air for a time, giving it validity. 'I can sleep with whomever I want, Thorin. I'm not married. I'm a free, single woman.'

He raised his eyes to her, glowering under his dark brows. 'You said things to me … you _implied _things …'

'Yes, and I mean them. I mean all of them. The two of you coming here … I …' She floundered for meaning. 'Look, please can we go out and talk? This place is claustrophobic. It's driving me mad. Please let's get away from it. Wait while I get you some clothes.'

She hurried to her bedroom to fetch things for the dwarf: jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. This time she had to stretch them for girth.

She returned and placed them on his bed. He was still turned away from her, staring out of the window. 'Put those on and we'll go for a walk.'

'What about _him_?' he practically snarled.

'Well, he can watch TV. There's lots on. He can watch a David Attenborough programme or something – all about animals, full of nature. He'll like that.'

Thorin turned slowly but at last gave her the slightest smirk.

'We'll go in five minutes.' She smiled softly then left him to change.

He appeared in the hallway a few minutes later, still surly but cooperating, it seemed. Hermione went into the living room and found Thranduil sitting looking through her books. He glanced at her disdainfully as she came in.

'I'm going out for a walk. Thorin's coming with me. We'll be back soon,' she said tersely.

His eyes narrowed but he nodded slightly before returning to the book.

She took Thorin over to the riverside where Thranduil had walked earlier. She huddled against the bitter wind blowing off the Thames, but Thorin seemed immune to it. He was still fuming, she could tell, but at least he'd deigned to come with her. He had turned down her suggestion of tying his hair back like Thranduil, and he received a few curious but not unappreciative glances from passers-by as the thick dark strands flowed out behind him.

The dwarf noted the buildings rising above them, structures which must have seemed bright, glossy and strange, but he said nothing, preferring to sulk rather than assuage his curiosity.

They walked slowly along the pavement. He said nothing. There was no point in avoiding the subject and Hermione at last broke the silence. 'I'm sorry you found out like that. And … I'm sorry it was him first and not you.' She was, for Thorin's sake. It could have been either of them. Thranduil had simply come to her first. 'I'm still totally confused about this whole situation.'

She wasn't sure he'd respond and was relieved when he did. 'At least you are in your own land. I feel a stranger to all here.'

'I know. I'm sorry, but you're not a stranger to me. I'm here to help you, you know that.'

'Are you?' he stopped and looked at her gravely. 'Or are you merely about helping yourself? Assuaging your own desires?'

She sighed before sitting on a nearby bench, her mind a mush of confusion. He stood for a time but then came and sat down too, not close to her but near enough.

Hermione took a deep breath and said, 'Look, there's no denying that it was my magic that brought you here, both of you. And I have to be honest, I fancy you both. It's not a coincidence that it's the two of you, both of you, who've arrived. I know it sounds crazy and selfish and all that, but I think you're here, at least partly, to help me with … being happy. I've been through a tough time recently, and, no, I haven't been happy. I've been struggling. I've been looking for something new and different, and then, just when I don't know where to turn, my magic brings you two into my life. And – what can I say? – you are so bloody … gorgeous! And wonderful and noble and brave and just … magnificent.'

Thorin's face relaxed a little at the gushing list of compliments.

'I don't want to make anyone jealous. I'm so confused myself, but, at the same time, this is the first time that I've been excited about anything, the first time anything good has happened to me for so long. Thranduil came to me that first night and … it just happened, but … it was supposed to happen, it clearly was.'

'And it was not meant to happen with me?'

'I didn't mean that … I think … ' She held her head in her hands and shook it in her own disbelief. 'God, this makes me feel like a total slut!'

'A what?'

'Nothing. I can't believe it. I guess it's like buses. You wait for a decent guy for years and then two come along at once.'

'I don't understand.'

She turned with a wry smile. 'No, you wouldn't.' She sighed. 'I just wish you two would get on better.'

'I detest him with every ounce of my being.'

'I can tell.'

'It is the way. There is nothing to be done about it.'

'I don't like to think of you hurting. I hate it.'

'I am used to hurt. I rarely feel anything else.'

'Oh, don't say that! That's a horrible thing to say and feel.' She reached across quickly for his hand but he kept it from her. She gave a sigh. 'You held my hand earlier.'

'I would have done far more than hold your hand, lady Hermione.' He turned and fixed her with his eyes. She nearly passed out from their intensity.

'Thorin …' she murmured, leaning into him. For a moment he closed the gap, moving himself closer, but then his eyes closed.

He pulled away and stood up abruptly. 'I will not share the possessions of an elf.'

'I'm not his possession!'

'He has tainted you.' He walked over to the riverside and gripped the railing hard.

'_What?_'

'You have lain with him. He has a claim on you.'

'For God's sake, listen to me!' She paced over angrily and stood right up close to him. 'Nobody has any claim on me! I make my own decisions and decide my own fate, thank you very much.'

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing in consideration. 'I will say this … you are the most spirited lady I have ever encountered, Hermione.'

'Damn right!'

Thorin was gripping the railing hard, and then, in an explosion of frustration, he threw his head back and roared, his primal energy pouring from him. It was stonkingly sexy. But despite the heat of her lust, Hermione gave a sudden, inadvertent shiver.

'Look … I'm really cold. Can we at least go to a café or somewhere?'

'Café?'

'To get a drink.'

He looked around wearily. 'I am tired of all these people. My mind aches in too much company, even that of my own people. I think best in the quiet.'

'Well, we'll have to go back to the flat then.'

'I do not wish to be near him.'

Hermione sighed in frustration and glanced about. 'I've got an idea. Come with me.'

She led them across the road to a hotel. Not cheap, but Hermione had a special deal with them through work as she used it to accommodate Muggle ambassadors to her department. She could get a discount, and it would give them privacy to sort things out.

'Where is this place?' asked the dwarf as they mounted the steps.

'It's a hotel. Like an inn. We'll get a room and talk about this, okay?' She approached the desk. 'Double room, just for an hour or so, thanks, but I'll pay for the night, of course.'

'Certainly, Miss Granger. Please fill out these forms and we'll have that ready for you straight away.' The pretty receptionist recognised Hermione and flashed her a quick, formulaic smile, but then turned her attention immediately to Thorin. 'That's an impressive hairstyle you have there, sir.'

Thorin appeared not to register her compliment. He huffed, 'It is too hot in here,' and promptly shrugged off his coat, revealing the shirt stretched tightly across his phenomenal torso.

The receptionist's eyes widened. 'Err, in addition to our usual services, we also have our own gym, sir. If you want a session, just ask. You probably don't want to miss a day of what is clearly a strict regime.'

'A session? Gym?' frowned Thorin.

'Oh this?' asked Hermione, interrupting and taking his arm, stroking the bicep. 'He gets it through natural fitness and hard work, scaling mountains, killing orcs, that kind of thing.'

The girl stared blankly for a moment then laughed vapidly. 'Nobody gets a body like that naturally. It's …' She dragged her lustful gaze over him, almost licking her lips. '… incredible.'

'Yup. Which room?' asked Hermione, pushing the registration papers towards her viciously.

The receptionist spat back, '424. Enjoy your stay.'

Hermione paced over to the lift, her hand still affixed to his bicep. Thorin glanced curiously at her before asking, 'Why are we here?'

'To talk. In private. That's what you want, isn't it?'

'To talk?'

She looked shiftily at him as they got in the lift. 'Yes. I was cold outside, that's all.'

The lift door closed. They fell silent. Thorin could have been bemused by the strange contraption, but instead he stared only at Hermione. She swallowed back her desire. God, at this rate she wouldn't make it to the room. But she really was here to talk, she kept telling herself. Things were messed up enough with a petulant elf she'd already shagged and a jealous dwarf. She shouldn't make things worse. She really shouldn't.

But, God, he was fine.

The lift pinged open. 'Come on,' she said, a demand as much as anything; it was probably best not to remain still for too long near each other.

They found the room and went in, shutting out the rest of the world.

'Cup of tea?' she asked, mainly to distract herself from the urge to throw herself onto the bed and spread her legs.

'Tea again … It seems to be the solution to all problems.'

'Do you have any other solutions?'

He humphed and glanced around the room, unimpressed and distracted. 'Have you any further ideas on returning us to our land?'

She could sense his tension. 'I suppose you're desperate to go back.'

'I find it strange here and I have a task to fulfil, as you know. I was distracted but …'

'What?' She turned to him. He stood there, feet planted, so at odds with his surroundings. When she looked at him she saw him only in his own homeland, surrounded by the carved stone walls of his ancestors.

He stared at her, and she let him see the full force of her desire. His own need was reflected back, she was sure, but then he averted his eyes and turned away. 'I should not have been so foolish. I was weak.'

But now her body was insistent. Who was she fooling? She hadn't come here to talk. 'Weak? Why?'

'You know why.'

'Because you find me attractive?'

He clenched his jaw. 'I told you as much. But you clearly do not feel the same, preferring instead that insipid walking straw.'

'I don't prefer him, I told you. It was just the right thing last night.'

Thorin threw her a fierce look. 'And I am not the right thing?'

'That's not what I meant.' She paused before adding with quiet intent, 'I think you could be the right thing too.'

At that, he took two fast paces up to her, surprising her so that she backed against the wall and was caught between it and him. His eyes burned, his body was hot and close. 'How do I know this?'

She stared back boldly but her breathing grew rapid and urgent. 'Because I want you so much.'

Thorin's gaze flicked to her lips and back. 'You desire me?' His voice was low again, a deep, throaty murmur which lapped at her lust.

'Yes. You know I do.'

The corners of his eyes creased. 'But how do _you_ know?'

'Because of what you do to me.'

He paused, knowing it built her desperation, then leaned further in and said, 'Tell me what I do to you.'

'You make me want you to touch me.'

'And?'

'You make my belly twist … you make my breath catch … you make my skin shiver. You make me …'

'What?'

She daren't blink.

'_What?'_ he repeated.

'You make me wet.'

He waited a fraction, giving time for her admission to hang between them, then he said, 'Show me.'

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**Yes, I'm evil. But I won't keep you hanging on long for the next one. Promise.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Beware! There be serious hotness ahead. Even I need a cold shower after this one. Enjoy, you lovelies. ;-) x**

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Still looking into her eyes, Thorin reached under her dress and worked his fingers down into her leggings and under her knickers. Hermione was almost holding her breath. She stared into him, transfixed, unable to break that piercing connection. His fingers were strong and certain, pushing down until they reached their goal. There he paused, and she nearly whined with despair at the thought that he may remove his touch. But then, with a slight grunt of intent, he let his fingertips search further down, parting the folds and seeking out the very heart of her. She wasn't wet, she was sodden.

Hermione wasn't the only one who'd been holding a breath. Thorin released a slow hiss as he met with the juices of her undeniable lust.

He rubbed slowly along the valley of her lips, long strokes back and forth, just avoiding her clit but making her yearn for more. When he grazed over it, briefly, barely, she stuttered, her eyelids fluttering shut, and brought up a hand to grip his shoulder.

'You speak the truth, my lady,' he said, that deep voice throbbing through her, making her wetter yet.

His fingers were now plying her, playing with her, making her dance to their tune. With a whine she pressed down onto them and was rewarded by two finding her opening and pushing up inside. 'Yes,' she hissed, now holding onto both shoulders, bracing herself on him as he finger-fucked her.

'Speak to me, Hermione, tell me. I want to hear your desires.'

She moaned. Already he was so different to the elf.

'That's amazing … you're amazing. Wanted it, wanted it so much.'

He dragged his fingers out and rubbed over her clit. 'Oh fuck!' she exclaimed as he caught the fat little bud, sending a shot of pleasure to her head.

Thorin slurred, his own voice muddied with lust, 'What is this word? Are you suffering?'

'No! Fuck, no! It's all good, all so incredibly good. It's just … there, there, don't stop that, don't ever stop that … ooh, yes. It means … what we're doing. What you're doing to me.'

'I'm … _fucking_ you?'

She threw her head back and laughed in ecstatic delight as he said it just as his fingers circled her clit perfectly, building and building her pleasure.

'Uh huh, we're getting there.' She managed, in her lust addled mind, to reach down and feel between his legs.

He groaned. 'Oh my God!' she exclaimed.

Even through the denim there was a monumental bulge straining for release. She fumbled for his buckle, craving it.

'Wait!' he barked, pulling away from her touch. 'I am attending to you.'

'Oh God, I want you,' she sobbed. 'I want all of you.'

'And you shall have me, do not fear, but there is a proper order of things, and my pleasure is heightened by giving to the woman first. Open your eyes.'

His fingers were now a blur. His other hand was gripping her shoulder, his thumb stroking along her collar bone. She bit her lip and frowned as pleasure rose faster in her.

'Oh God, coming …' she murmured as her orgasm broke, crashing through her with such force she cried out. Thorin allowed himself the slightest grin, his fingers not stopping until every shudder and shimmer had washed through her.

Hermione leaned back against the wall, panting, eyes closed, and felt her clothes being lifted off. She came to her senses to reciprocate, pulling off his shirt and at last undoing his buckle.

Thorin was by now in as much as haste as she was. He helped, stripping off his own clothes as fast as hers.

He was soon utterly naked.

For a moment she was dumbstruck. He was huge. Easily the biggest she'd ever had. She hadn't realised men could look like that, but then, he wasn't exactly a man. He rose out long and straight and so bloody thick she wondered if she could actually fit it in. Despite its weight his cock still stood at a proud angle.

He stepped in and the object in question nudged against her belly. Thorin reached up to her tenderly, cupped her face and kissed her, softly at first, closed mouthed. To have this king of the mountain kissing her with such tender adoration made her melt into him. She would take anything he offered. He kissed slowly, then, only after she opened for him, slipped his tongue gently into her, gauging her willingness.

She was dizzy with desire again. Hermione moaned and reached down to take hold of him. She could barely close her fingers around it but she drew her thumb over the damp head and stroked. He groaned and pulled back, glancing down at where she held him. 'I must be inside you,' he slurred.

She nodded. Nothing else mattered.

Taking her hand, he pulled her across to the bed. She fell back along it and drew up her knees for him, urging him in. He stood for a moment, staring down at her, holding himself in one hand and stroking slowly, then, still holding his cock ready, he came and knelt over her.

God, he was the most magnificent thing she'd ever seen. The muscles of his powerful upper body were strained with desire and he braced himself on strong, thick thighs at the apex of which, rising out, was that extraordinary cock. She arched her back, reason banished with lust.

He moved into position and his cock seemed to jerk in anticipation. A moment's hesitation took hold. 'You're very big,' she said, a tremulous note evident in her voice.

'We have prepared. You are ready, my lady, I made sure of it.' She couldn't be wetter, she knew that. 'Will you take me?'

She nodded, although she couldn't deny the nerves. She felt like a virgin again, but the ripple of apprehension only stoked her lust. God, this would stretch. But isn't that what she wanted? The stretch, the burn … to feel it all?

With furrowed brows, Thorin edged the first few centimetres of his mighty cock inside her. She gasped. 'Are you alright?' She nodded again. He pressed in further. She bit her lip, concentrating on opening for him. He held her left knee and angled it out so that she was spread wide. Thorin stared down at where he'd entered her and grunted in satisfaction. It was such a glorious sound that she exhaled in bliss and allowed him to push in further with ease.

'Yes, that's good, that's very good,' he moaned, concentrating on edging his cock deeper and deeper.

'More,' she heard herself saying. He must be halfway in, but she wanted it all. Push. He crammed more of his length in. Fuck! Now she felt it, as if her body was pressing in on him rather than him pushing her out, holding him into her, clinging onto him, never wanting to relinquish the incredible feeling of being so full.

Still he drove forward. She didn't doubt his consideration of her, but neither was there any doubting his determination. He wasn't stopping. He wasn't going easy. She was not the first to take him, after all, and he knew exactly how much a woman could take. She would take him all, and he'd make sure of it.

'Easy,' he hissed, pushing a pillow under her hips to change the angle. 'I will find it.'

'Find what?'

'Our way. Our fit.' He put another pillow under her and spread her legs further again. As he pushed forward, this time her body eased open for him. He was in fully. His entire length. His entire shaft embedded in her, balls deep, cock long.

Her mouth opened but no words emerged. She couldn't move, she knew that. She didn't want to. He pinned her to the very earth.

'There,' he murmured. 'We found it.'

'God, that's …'

'What? Tell me.'

'That's … full. I've never been so full.'

'No. And you never will be again.'

'That's so right.'

'Yes,' he practically growled and with that started an exacting withdrawal, dragging himself inch by inch from the cocoon of her flesh. She moaned in loss and arched up to recapture him.

'No,' he said, no scope for query. 'My way. I do this my way.'

She held her eyes open – they were heavy with the sensations pounding through her – and stared into him. His face was harsh and formidable, his brows dark, indomitable. With this man – for right now he was the most man she could ever want – there was no doubt he would do to her what she needed.

He pulled back almost to the point where he fell from her, but the bulbous head of his cock sat tight in her wet heat. Thorin glanced down, his own breath fast, his need struggling to be contained. He swallowed back his haste and it guttered in his throat with a noise that pulsed into her with throbbing pleasure. Hermione stretched her arms above her along the bed, seeking maximum sensation, anything to relieve that ache of hollowness now that he'd pulled out.

But then he was in again – suddenly, brutally, powering through her so that the mattress dipped and she grunted in surprise. It should have hurt, it did hurt, but she only cried out in rapture as her body took him desperately.

'There,' he growled. 'There. In you. Feel me.'

'I love it,' she moaned, her head tossing from side to side. She threw her arms across his back, almost clawing at him to keep him in her. 'Love that.'

He pulled out but this time plunged back into her immediately, deep, making her back buckle. She cried out louder yet, her neck arched, her mouth gaping.

He groaned as his own pleasure assailed him but slurred down to her, 'What word did you say? Before, you used a word for this … say it, tell me.'

'Fucking … you're fucking me.'

'Fucking …' he repeated with a growl and another drive forward. 'I like that. It sits well on my tongue. _Fucking_.'

The dirtiness of the word, so entirely human and Earth-bound, coming from the mouth of this king of mythical dwarves, was enough to make Hermione come screaming there and then, but she held her pleasure back and urged him on. 'Do it then. Say it and do it to me. Tell me what you're doing to me.'

His right hand worked its way under her buttocks and dug into the soft flesh, pushing her hips up again, so that this time as he plunged back and forth the head of his cock ground its way along her g-spot assertively. 'I'm fucking you. I'm fucking you like no one will ever fuck you again.'

She laughed deliriously and rose to meet his cock. God, she'd be sore later, but right now she didn't care. She wanted it all. She wanted the most feeling she could take from him.

Thorin held her left leg to the side and looked down, studying his cock as it opened her to him, powered into her, sank through her flesh time and again. She was still wet for him, and she could picture it emerging from her, glistening and hard, before plunging back in to disappear into the tight glove of her body.

The image assailed her and she looked at him, his beautiful face savage with concentration, his lips mouthing what he was doing to her over and over: '_Fucking, fucking, fucking_ ...'

Everything was so right, so full and complete, that it hadn't occurred to her to wonder at how he was such a skilled lover. Perhaps it was the same fortuitous mix of genes that had given him height and good looks, but he seemed to possess an innate understanding of her body and what to do to it. She would come again with blinding force. And soon.

Hermione's hands tightened on his back, her nails digging into him, making him go at her with vicious intent. He was grunting now, angling himself to drive into her, but still it worked, still it built her up and up so that the tingle became a whirl, and the whirl tightened into the knotted ball of expectant release that made her both hot and cold, and that knot made her mind cloud and her body tense, held on that edge, held there, tight, hot, nearly … wait … _wait for it_. All the while he moved. All the while he groaned, deep and guttural. _Ready_ – cock full – _ready_ – his mass pressed against her g-spot – _ready_ – his next stroke caught her clit – _oh, there, there, yes, there … now._

Pleasure.

She bucked. His cock sank deep. Her walls gripped it in their ecstasy. She was coming so hard she lost herself. And there was silence. Total, silent absorption of rapture.

It was broken by his own cry. 'Fuck!' His head was back, his neck strained, a vein pulsed livid in it as he grimaced, opening his mouth and letting his pleasure pour from him. At that, Hermione let out her own cry. It broke from her suddenly after being held back. As he came, she forced herself to study him. His rapture was so clear that she almost wept. His eyes rolled upwards and she could feel the pulse of his cock as it shot out its release, hot, milky bursts, deep into her, so much that some oozed out as he continued to piston hard, back and forth. His pleasure seemed to endure and he didn't slow. He worked himself in her body, eking out the climax until every drop had left him. At last, his body finished, his cock spent, he slowed and slumped, letting his head hang down and his hair fall around him. His muscles at last relaxed, although in the low light from outside he still looked as if he'd been carved by a master.

Minutes passed before he pulled out. Even afterwards, his cock remained impressively large and she missed it immediately. Thorin drew her up the bed and pulled the covers around her before lying beside her.

'Thank you. That was out of this world. I don't know what to say,' she whispered.

'Then don't speak.' He stroked a line down between her breasts. 'I have neglected these.'

She smirked. 'Time for that later.'

'Is there? Can we stay here? I thought we came here to talk.'

She reached up and kissed him. 'We can talk now.'

'Time passes. It slips away too fast.'

She remembered Thranduil waiting back at the flat. A flash of guilt caught her and she looked beyond the dwarf with a sigh. 'Let's not think about that now. This is too perfect.'

He cocked an eyebrow. 'It will have been a long walk.'

'Yes, and what of that? Let's make it a little longer.' She pulled him down and they kissed, deep and long.

For now, everything else could wait.

* * *

**PHWOAR! God, he is rwoooooaaaaaarrrrrrr.**


End file.
